


Singing A Different Tune

by Fallenangel87



Category: Mass Murder - Fandom, School shooter fandom, True Crime - Fandom, True Crime Community, tcc - Fandom
Genre: Dirty Talk (slight), Dylann being a brat, John being creepy, M/M, Protective Elliot, Racial slurs, Racism, Racist Language, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 13:13:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12865242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallenangel87/pseuds/Fallenangel87





	Singing A Different Tune

John’s eyes are on Dylann, Dylann’s wearing those too tight clothes, he’s drawing way too much attention to himself. He knows exactly what he’s doing too. John isn’t even trying to hide it either! That clown needs to back the hell off! Why can’t he see that is mine?! Dylann is mine, it’s not a goddamn secret, he’s been marked up plenty of times for people to know that he isn’t an option for them. My temper is pretty short on a good day, but now my baby is being fucked with by that creep and I won’t stand for it, my temper is always worse around this asshole because he doesn’t know how to keep it in his fucking pants. Like, ever.

 

“Walk! The fuck! Away!” I eventually snap at him, my eyes dark with anger as I glare at him and it’s only intensified when he laughs at me. He fucking laughs. He walks away and at least he’s smart enough to do that because I would have knocked his ugly ass teeth down his worthless throat if he had stayed there any longer. Honestly, I dare the bitch to try something with me. “At least he’s white,” Dylann mutters to me and I turn to face him, eyes narrow as I look at him fully now, he looks like a total brat; his arms are crossed over his chest and he is pouting at me, I try to be serious and not focus on how adorably unintimidating he looks now. 

 

“I don’t need some spic standing up for me.” He finishes, I just roll my eyes at him and tell, “I’m from London, you prick, you know this.” “Still not white!” He protests and I smirk at this, I press even closer and he looks away as I stroke his cheek gently. “I don’t recall you minding last night when I had your legs spread for me and I had you screaming my name.” I murmur against his ear, now impossibly close to him. Instead of replying, he simply gives me a scoff in return and I smile even more against his skin at this. I pull back to wink at him and I see the light red blush now spread across his cheeks, and I know that I’ve won this battle.


End file.
